


Pink in the Night

by canniclown



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bad Parenting, Character Death, Connor is disabled/ an amputee and Amanda is a shitty mother who keeps him inside all the time, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Familial Abuse, Fat Shaming, M/M, Sad Ending, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), garden au, if you remember the OG fic and threads you deserve praise this is old
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29292045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canniclown/pseuds/canniclown
Summary: Prince Connor has never been allowed outside. From the balcony of his bedroom, he spots the estate’s new gardener.Updated Garden AU fic.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	Pink in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I started this au in January 2019 as a thread on twitter. A lot has happened since then, I started writing it as a full fanfiction but hated the route it was going, and stopped a few chapters in after some pressuring from an ex friend that changed the story in a way I disliked, and constant negging from people I didn’t know demanding updates and more content at a rate I could not keep up with. Late 2019, I was kicked out of the fandom, and in 2020 I got closer with some good people who encouraged me to remake the au into something I can have fun with and actually enjoy writing. I intend to update on a schedule that accommodates my current work/life balance, so please don’t demand fast updates, it’ll discourage me from continuing to write and I’ll delete it again. To talk more about this au, you can find me on twitter. (@CL0WNF1SH_) I also want to thank Molly (@sourmilkart on twitter) for making lovely art from this au even back when I had originally written it, and Zee (@murderbutsexy on twitter) for beta reading and editing this fic for me, and both of them for encouraging me to write whatever the fuck I want. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoy it :) I’m having so much fun working on this project again. -E
> 
> PLEASE heed the trigger warnings, this fic will not have a happy ending.

Sunlight spills in through glass sliding doors, seeping past the sheer curtains and casting rays of yellow on white carpet, filling the room with the warmth of a new day. A few boxes litter the floor, open and marked with a label of their contents, ready to be unpacked. Reaching into a box labeled  _ ‘Books,’  _ Prince Connor fishes out a few of his favorites, socked feet padding across the plush carpet to one of the many bookcases, sliding the novels into place, careful to keep them in color order.

Taking a step back, Connor turns to admire the full extent of his new room. The room itself is massive, much larger than the one he moved from, and consists of a large bedroom with an accompanying sitting area: a love seat and coffee table in front of his bookshelves. His bed, a massive king, is canopied, curtains framing the posts and eloquently grazing the floor. Adjacent to the bed is the large barn doors leading to his closet, which could be a room of its own, and a large fish tank that spans the right wall by the door.

Though he still has unpacking to do, Connor feels free.

More free than he has, at least. He shared a bedroom with his mother until he was fifteen, and even then he only moved to the room next door so she could listen out for him. Now, later in his life, Connor feels accomplished and independent. He finally convinced his mother to let him have a room upstairs.

As he bends over to pick up another box, a sharp pain runs up his left leg, skin pinching against his prosthetic. Sighing, Connor hobbles to the bed, sitting on the edge to mess with the straps around his thigh.

Connor’s prosthetic leg is  _ aggravating,  _ to say the least. It’s relatively new, and though his mother insists it’s a step up from his old leg, Connor hates growing accustomed to the new one. The straps are tighter, lacing up like a corset around the stump of his thigh. Unlike his other leg, this one is real leather, and without anything underneath it, the stupid thing makes his leg feel sweaty and swollen, the straps digging into his skin.

It’s hard to walk on, too, stiffer than the old one. But, he doesn’t wish to upset his mother, so he bares it, running his fingers under the thick leather and sighing heavily into the new room. Chancing a quick glance at his fish tank, Connor tilts his head, searching for his Dwarf Gourami.

_ He must be sleeping,  _ Connor decides, keeping his fingers braced against his prosthetic. It is a  _ nice  _ leg, with small details burned into the leather. Connor sits up, suddenly, with a new idea, standing quickly to move to the closet. Though he limps a bit with the new leg, he manages, rummaging through drawers to find a few handkerchiefs and some slacks he doesn’t care too much for, ready to get to work.

Connor spends the rest of his morning hunched over the round sofa in the middle of his massive closet, sewing fabric together to make a sort of sleeve for his leg. Connor uses a sock as a reference, making sure that the opening is big enough for the circumference of his thigh and the rest fits snuggly around his stump leg. Once he’s satisfied with it, he braces himself with a pair of scissors, snipping one leg of his older slacks so it will rest just above his knee.

He slips the sleeve over his leg, then pulls on his slacks. After smoothing the fabric down over his thigh, Connor grabs his prosthetic from where it rests against the side of the couch, pulling it over his leg and careful to tuck the fabric of his cropped slacks inside. 

Grinning at his work, Connor finishes getting dressed, opting for tall socks and shiny loafers, and stuffing the poofy sleeves of his shirt through a tight vest, struggling with his cravat before moving back to his bedroom and admiring his appearance in the floor length mirror. 

Though he’s used to hiding his prosthetic from the staff, like his mother always advises, Connor rather likes how it looks with the prosthetic on the outside. It’s still uncomfortable, but at least he has a few layers of fabric protecting his real leg from the pinching leather. And, Connor decides, it’s nice to try a different look from time to time, switching up the monotony of his usual formal attire. It’s nice to see, and the leather of this new leg is very pleasing to look at, the little vines carved into the leather standing out as if they’re an intentional fashion statement.

Connor worries briefly about what his mother will think, but ultimately decides that if she didn’t want anyone to see it, she would not have had a leg made that was this pretty. 

He sets out to leave for the day, knowing that he can finish unpacking later, pausing to peer into the fish tank to look for Dewey one last time before grabbing a mask from his dresser and heading out into the hallway.

One of the compromises Connor had to make in order to convince his mother he can handle a big room upstairs, was that he can’t close his bedroom door. He knows it’s so she can listen out for him, but he dislikes the lack of privacy already, almost bumping into a servant in the hall. They apologize quickly, and Connor steps past them, making his way towards the large stairs.

As  _ adult  _ as Connor feels now with his new, big, adult room, he starts to feel smaller and less proud as he struggles to head down the stairs. Getting up them was easy, but he already has trouble moving his limbs enough as it is, and on top of it, his new leg is stiff and hard to bend, forcing him to walk with a slight limp no matter what he does. So, Connor grips the railing with both hands, careful to step one foot after the other, heaving a breath when he reaches the bottom.

He sees now why Mother was so  _ against  _ him moving upstairs.

But, Connor refuses to let her win this one, and composes himself, straightening his cravat and running a hand through his gelled hair, heading towards the small parlor towards the front of the estate.

Like every morning, breakfast is waiting for him at his favorite chair: eggs and toast, a small cup of tea. Connor lowers his mask to eat, staring out of the parlor’s large windows as he chews, eyes growing soft at the fountains out in the courtyard.

Connor has never been outside.

Maybe he had when he was a child, but not long enough for him to remember. Connor’s mother has always been protective of him, for good reason, keeping him inside while the world moves on around him. Sometimes, Connor wonders what it would be like to be allowed out there. He often daydreams about everything he knows he’s missing out on until it hurts to think about, then he focuses his attention on the estate.

He tears his eyes away from the window. Looking out of it isn’t a good idea for him, especially not this early in the morning. He should stay chipper, and feel lucky to have a mother who loves him enough to shelter him from getting hurt. He’s safe inside, and won’t get sick so long as he stays indoors and keeps his mask on.

Through the rest of the day, Connor finds it harder and harder to ignore the call of the green grass outside. He can see it no matter where he goes, through every big window and door. Some days it’s hard to ignore, and Connor finds himself lingering near a window and staring longingly out at the woods surrounding the large estate more than once. He tries to distract himself, even heading to the estate library to find something new to read, but he struggles to focus on the words, gaze flicking upwards towards the window, even with the curtains closed.

Giving in, Connor moves to the window pane, pushing the curtain aside to lean against the frame, sighing under his breath. He can see the sun starting to set, sky shifting to brilliant shades of orange and pink, illuminating his reflection in the glass. Connor shuts his eyes, imagining what it would feel like to feel the sun on his face, pretending he’s laying out in the grass and letting the sunshine soak into his very being. It makes his stomach feel warm, heart beating faster as he imagines the soft breeze rustling his brown curls, gentle wind kissing the bridge of his nose and making him feel safe.

A sound draws him out of the fantasy, and Connor’s eyes widen, stepping away from the window as he watches the cement road leading through the woods up to the estate. A black car slows through the roundabout, parking in front of one of the massive fountains. Excitement seeping through his demeanor, Connor steps out of the window, briskly walking,  _ hobbling,  _ Connor thinks, towards the front of the house.

He ends up in the parlor, like usual, loafers clicking on the marble tile as he peeks through the big doors to view the foyer inside. Connor isn’t allowed in the foyer, since the big doors open too wide and let in too much air, but he can peak through the cracks of the smaller doors, struggling to keep his excitement at bay as he watches the front doors swing open with the help of a few guards.

Like he always does, Connor watches as the royals step through and collect themselves, sanitizing their hands and donning their own masks now that they’re inside. Connor bounces on the balls of his feet, drawing a breath as the guards move for the smaller doors, swinging them open so Connor’s family can step through to greet him.

Queen Amanda, Connor’s mother, greets him with open arms, though her embrace is rather stiff. Connor is careful not to squeeze her tightly, accepting her affection briefly before it's over. Amanda is an incredibly stoic and firm woman, and even in brief moments like this where they hug after a few days of being apart, it still feels formal and forced. Connor’s used to it. He knows how much she cares about him, so he doesn’t mind her chilly demeanor.

Niles, on the other hand, doesn’t embrace him at all. Connor’s brother is colder than even Amanda, keeping his own familial greetings to small talk and pleasantries. Connor is used to that, too, and is happy to walk quietly with them and their accompanying guards towards the large dining room, taking his seat without a word and waiting as servers pour wine and serve plates filled with food.

Connor gets a little less on his plate than the other two, and he notices. That’s been happening a lot lately. He wonders if Amanda mentioned his weight to the serving staff.

Once the staff clears out, they’re left alone to eat, with the guards positioned outside the doors. The only guards that remain are Amanda and Niles’ personal guards, who linger a few feet away from the table. Connor wishes he remembered their names, but doesn’t dwell on it, diving into his dinner without seeming too eager to eat.

It’s quiet mostly, except for the sound of silverware scraping porcelain plates, and Niles’ fingers tapping against a tablet screen. He works throughout the meal, reading papers his guard hands him and typing fast responses on his tablet. Connor always feels jealous when he sees Niles with it.  _ He  _ isn’t  _ allowed _ to have even a television, and Niles gets to carry technology with him everywhere. 

Although, Connor supposes, he doesn’t really envy the work. Amanda is the queen of their kingdom, Belle Isle, and has been for much longer than Connor’s even been alive. She’s nearing retirement, since Niles is old enough to rule now, and as time passes, Connor swears that he’s seen Niles change so much as he takes on more and more of Amanda’s work. He’s basically ruling the kingdom on his own, even though he hasn’t been coronated yet.

Their mother is just getting older and more tired. Niles will most likely have the crown before the year ends.

Sometimes Connor feels guilty for not helping. It’s hard not to feel useless when you watch your older brother fight wars and rule the entire kingdom from the comfort of your cushy estate, far away from the kingdom’s castle. Logically Connor knows it’s not up to him to help, and Amanda wants him to stay indoors at all times, but Niles is a decorated general and an officer, a big,  _ buff,  _ put together man who works as much as he breathes. It’s hard not to feel jealous, and not to feel bad for being so  _ useless  _ by comparison.

Connor tries to make small talk with him as he works, worrying that he hasn’t even touched dinner yet, when Amanda and Connor have practically cleaned their plates. “How is your betrothed?”

Niles doesn’t answer at first, until Amanda clears her throat. He tears his eyes away from his tablet, but snaps his fingers for his guard to clear out some of his work and replace it with new documents to sign. “The princess is fine,” Niles shrugs, searching for a pen amidst the clutter before snatching it from his guard's open palm. He scribbles on some documents in front of him. Connor thinks his signature is frightening. “There’s not much time for us to catch up, lately.”

“I thought you were with her on this trip? Weren’t you in Woodward?”

Sighing, Niles signs a few more things before grabbing the tablet again. Connor watches his guard scramble to organize the papers. “We were, but she doesn’t conduct any of the kingdom’s business, nor will she when we’re married. I was meeting with the King.”

Connor doesn’t understand that. There’s so much going on lately between the two kingdoms, talk of merging once Niles and the princess of Woodward finally marry. But, whenever Connor asks, Niles and Amanda both talk about it like the princess won’t have a say in anything, like Niles will rule both kingdoms on his own.

It doesn’t seem right to Connor. But, he’s never met anyone from another kingdom, not even Niles’ betrothed. Maybe there’s something he just doesn’t understand as an outsider.

He falls quiet again so Niles can keep working, perking up when the servers bring dessert. Connor reaches for the plate of cookies, gasping when Amanda bats his hands away. “Do you  _ want  _ to stay fat?”

Connor frowns. “I’m not fat.”

“You will be,” Amanda signals for her own guard to move the plate away,  _ out _ of Connor’s reach. “You need to keep an eye on your weight, Connor.”

“Okay,” Connor sighs heavily, watching Amanda take a cookie for herself.

“And,” Amanda takes a bite, chewing daintily before swallowing, sure to have a clean mouth before speaking again.  _ “What _ are you wearing today?”

Furrowing his brow, Connor looks down at his outfit. It’s what he normally wears, besides his visible prosthetic leg. “Oh, well, it was pinching my skin again, so I figured I would-”

“You look ridiculous, Connor. I raised you to be more put together than this. Tomorrow I expect it to be hidden again.”

_ That  _ upsets Connor further, and, boldly, he decides to speak up a little bit. His new room and his new freedom is making him feel braver already. “Well, it hurts my leg if I wear it under my clothes, and nobody is here besides the staff and you two, so I’m sure no one will mind,” Amanda frowns at him. “I’m never outside, so what I wear doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to  _ me,”  _ Amanda sneers, setting a napkin down on the table. Her gaze is cold, commanding. “You will not dress like this. I don’t want to see that thing again,” Connor moves to argue, but Amanda raises a hand. “I do not care to repeat myself, Connor.”

Desperate, Connor looks to Niles, who isn’t bothered. He doesn’t even seem to hear, so engrossed in his work that even Niles’ guard seems more sympathetic. He offers Connor a soft smile and a nod, before moving to take more documents from Niles.

Connor decides to just drop it, angry that his mother is so  _ ashamed  _ of him that he can’t even dress to accommodate his disability. He waits until after she’s retired for the evening, taking the stairs one step at a time until he gets to his own bedroom, frustratingly tossing his mask to the bed and untying his cravat with a huff.

_ Mother,  _ he grumbles to himself, moving to the small stool by the fish tank. Dewey, Connor’s Dwarf Gourami, is finally up from his nap, swimming in little circles around the plastic castles and landscapes of his massive fish tank. 

“You know, it’s not fair,” Connor whispers, tapping some flakey fish food into the tank, watching Dewey scramble to eat dinner. “Mother is the one who made me have this stupid, fancy leg anyway. And, she’s the one who makes it so I can’t leave or be seen by anyone anyway. The least she could do is pretend to not be so embarrassed by me, or not be so… rude to my face. She doesn’t even try to hide it.

“What do you think? Am I being too dramatic?” No response, since Dewey is a fish. “I don’t think so either. Sometimes I wish I was brave enough to stand up to her more. I tried to today, but I gave up,” Connor heaves a sigh, pressing his face against the cool glass of the large tank. “What should I do? She’s not even here most days, should I just keep doing whatever she tells me to?”

Still nothing. Dewey finishes his dinner and keeps swimming. “Oh!” Connor sits up, watching Dewey loop through a stone archway. “You’re right! I should break a rule just to spite her,” Standing, Connor looks around his room. “Maybe if I do something  _ rebellious _ enough, I’ll feel better. I can hide my leg and not feel bad about doing what she said, because I’ll have this secret defiance to make myself proud. A secret!” Connor looks back at the tank. “Thank you, Dewey, it’s a good idea, but I don’t know if I can even-”

Stopping himself, Connor turns back towards his bedroom, looking out of the sliding glass doors that lead to his balcony.

It’s  _ perfect.  _ Amanda would never have any idea, she’s asleep, and there are no guards inside of his bedroom. Oh, Connor’s always wondered what fresh air would feel like on his skin. Quickly, he tip-toes over to the balcony doors, expecting them to be locked, but… 

Connor presses his hand on the handle, sliding it sideways just a little.

The door slides instantly, letting cold air hit Connor’s face so fast that it startles him, backing away. He stumbles on his prosthetic as it locks up, forcing him to fall backwards and land against the plush carpet.

Shivering, Connor scrambles to stand up again, wobbly legs taking him back to the door. He inhales deeply before sliding the door farther, enough so the air rushes over his whole body, filling him with a chill that feels like it settles against his bones.

Not hesitating any longer, Connor steps outside.

It feels  _ weird,  _ the only word Connor can use to describe it, the wind rustling his curls just like he imagined. It’s almost nighttime, so the sun isn’t out anymore, but Connor doesn’t mind, inhaling a deep breath to smell the outside world. It smells  _ clean,  _ which he wasn’t expecting. Connor always assumed the air would be dirty, or in more extreme bouts of panic, would sicken or kill him. But it just smells like…  _ flowers. _

Connor takes a few more steps out onto the white balcony, running pale fingertips along the railing, peering out at the large garden that runs along the entirety of the estate’s backside. It’s bigger than it seems from the windows downstairs, a large maze of hedges circling a small pond and a croquet course, thousands of vibrant flowers peeking up at Connor even in the moonlight.

It’s beautiful.

Focusing on the pond, Connor grins widely, knowing there must be fish just under the water’s surface. Dewey would love it out here. Connor makes a note to bring Dewey with him next time, maybe in a glass bowl so he can be just as amazed.

Connor tries to ignore the growing anger in his chest, not understanding why Amanda keeps him from  _ this.  _ It’s incredible, the sounds of bugs chirping from the woods circling the estate’s perimeter filling Connor’s ears. He wants to see it during the day, hear the birds and smell the flowers. He wants to feel the grass on his skin, the sun on his face.

There’s a gasp, and Connor’s attention turns to the rose bushes, suddenly very afraid of being caught. His eyes meet another pair, staring up at him from under the brim of a hat.

It’s a man Connor has never seen before.

He’s large, his faded overalls stretching over the span of his big belly, enough that Connor can make out his shape even from this high up. He removes his hat, not breaking from Connor’s gaze, allowing Connor to see his face more accurately. He’s older, beard grey and forehead lined with wrinkles. He looks shocked to see Connor, eyes wide and bulging from his skull. 

Connor’s mouth falls open, staring down at the stranger with equal surprise. 


End file.
